Shatter

  “You!”

  A deep voice cuts the air and Duke Spencer’s head shoots up, fear laced through his expression.

  “This is your fault,” Monsieur Tremain says, pointing a red sausage finger straight at Duke Spencer’s face. His voice rises with every syllable, until each forms an earsplitting blow. “Everything, all of this, your fault! You betrayed us!”

  I expect Duke Spencer to wither within Lord Aaron’s arms, but he surprises me by rising to his feet—fists and jaw clenched and a fire suddenly kindled in his eyes. “My fault?” he says, and though his tone is cutting, it’s very quiet. The handful of people around us hush to hear him. “You dare to suggest this is my fault? You? You are a predator, sir. You took advantage of me when I was weak; you took advantage of her!” he says, flinging an arm at the doors, where, still, the crowd cannot see the body. “You forced us into your dance, into our roles, and when everything failed, you had the audacity to blame her.”

  I almost gasp. I’ve not heard any of this. I look to Lord Aaron, but his eyes glimmer with pride as he watches his love stand up to the man who used him. Lord Aaron knew. But Duke Spencer never let on. I suppose even misplaced loyalty is deserving of admiration.

  “I most certainly did not,” Monsieur Tremain replies, bristling, but his voice is a little weaker.

  “You think I couldn’t hear you? A mere two walls away? You shouted at her for hours,” Duke Spencer murmurs, that dangerous edge carrying his voice farther than I’d have imagined possible. He steps away from Lord Aaron, drawing near to his former father-in-law, who physically shrinks back from the much smaller man. “Denigrating her for your failure. You called her every name in the book, dragged out every insult you could imagine, and rested only when your wife was ready to take over!”

  Everyone’s eyes shoot down at the woman no longer wailing on the floor, her face streaked with tears, her eyes and mouth widened in surprise.

  “There was nothing I could do then,” Duke Spencer says, “but you have no power over me anymore, and I’ll be damned if you’ll blame her for one more thing.”

  “Now, see here—”

  But Duke Spencer is having none of it. “You, the both of you, controlled and bullied us every day of our marriage.” He looks over at the doors and his face grows sad again, as though he could see through the thick, solid oak. “If I bear any blame in this sad affair,” he says softly, “it’s that I left her with you.”

  Monsieur Tremain sputters and blusters and then turns to me. “You’re allowing this to stand?”

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?” I ask blandly, forcing myself to remain calm. Emotionless.

  He shoves a finger in my face now, the turncoat. “There will be a lawsuit. How did she even get in there? This is a case of wrongful death, or neglect, and you and that husband of yours will be hearing from my lawyers.”

  I laugh. “Truly?” I stalk over to Monsieur Tremain, who’s forced to drop his finger as I bring my nose close to his face, speaking loudly enough for everyone around us to hear. “Your daughter isn’t even cold after having hanged herself, and you’re already scheming with your lawyers? What a shame we didn’t vote control of this kingdom into your grasping hands.”

  “You—”

  “Guards, I feel threatened.” Two guards, with guns at their hips, step forward, between Tremain and me. His face is a deep red and he’s clamping his jaw closed over angry words I know he wishes he could spew at me.

  “I suggest,” I say calmly, “that you help your wife up and escort her back to your home. I’m certain security will want a statement from you. And don’t even consider saying a single word to the tourists outside this door or you’ll find yourself in even more unbearable circumstances than you currently do.”

  He deflates like a balloon and slowly does my bidding, reaching down for his wife and dragging her to her feet. The security officers part to allow them through to the doors, and no one meets their eyes as they retreat.

  “Take Duke Spencer to your apartments, Lord Aaron,” I say gently once they’ve left. “There’s no reason for him to be here.”

  “She wanted me to find her,” Duke Spencer says weakly. “Because I abandoned her.”

  “Hush,” Lord Aaron says, smoothing down the duke’s wispy blond hair.

  But Duke Spencer shakes his head. “I knew what they were like—how awful they are—and I left her to them.” He sniffles. “She loved me, in her way.”

  “Go,” I whisper. “Both of you. I’ll take care of her.”

  The two men leave the apartment, trying to appear normal, and with a tight smile, I shoo Lady Mei after them. As soon as the door closes behind them, my legs start to tremble, and I feel bile rise in my throat. Saber stands in front of me, blocking me from the security officers’ view. I grasp for control and only barely grab hold of it. I remember when we found my mother’s body, how calm Saber managed to stay. I can do that too. I hardly knew Julianna—she wasn’t my mother, or even Molli.

  “Do you think anyone saw this coming?” Saber asks quietly, his head close to mine so no one else can hear us.

  I shake my head. “I’m not convinced even Lady Julianna thought it through, to be honest.” Emotion sets my voice trembling, and I force myself to hold very still while it passes. “If she had, she would have dressed more nicely. Or perhaps her manner of dress is her statement. Regardless, clearly she was upset. Angry.” I hesitate. “Sad.”

  Saber nods silently.

  We look down on her body, lying so still. She doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. There’s a stillness to death that looks nothing like sleeping, and I despise when people make that comparison. A man in a blue uniform rises from his crouch beside her and walks over with a tablet in his hands.

  I sign a few documents with his stylus—red tape and formalities. “I’ll summon medical up here to take her down to the morgue,” he says when I’m done.

  “No!”

  His chin jerks up and even Saber stares at me quizzically.

  My throat constricts, and I swallow hard. “We have guests today,” I whisper. “She doesn’t deserve to be wheeled out in front of them for everyone to see. Covered or not.” It’s something. Preserve whatever shreds of her dignity remain. “Late tonight. After the tourists are gone. I’ll talk to Duke Spencer; I’m certain he’ll agree to let her stay here until then.”

  The tiny smile of approval on Saber’s face is all the confirmation I need that, for once, I’m doing the right thing.

  The man bows, then says, “Will you want to contact the King, Your Highness? Inform him of this?”

  “The King?” I ask, realizing that I don’t even know how to contact him directly. I’ve always gone through Mateus. I suppose I could send him a com, but I want to handle this on my own. To show him that I can. “I don’t think that’s necessary; they weren’t friends. An official report sent to his email will suffice. I’ll leave that in your capable hands,” I say, pulling my gloves on one at a time, pushing my emotions back as I push my fingers into the kid leather. I have to be the Queen. “I’ve a public assembly to host tonight.”

  WHEN SABER ESCORTS me into the Hall of Mirrors a few hours later, the air is fairly crackling with tension. Which is only to be expected, with the news of Julianna’s death coming so soon after her family’s downfall; Lady Mei says Madame Tremain is cloistered and sedated in the clinic, with her husband glued to her side.

  But as I walk down the line of salons, I get the distinct impression that there’s more to the mood than a suicide scandal. If the talk were simply about Lady Julianna, I would expect a frenetic rotation of courtiers from one circle to the next, swapping theories and gossip, and the social crucifixion of at least one innocent bystander. Instead, the crowd is split into two definite clumps on either side of the Hall of Mirrors. Judging from the placement of my nearest allies, I can’t help but feel that the choosing of sides has somet
hing to do with me and nothing to do with the Tremains at all.

  Most disconcerting. Even the tourists seem unusually subdued, hanging back behind the velvet ropes that keep the plebeians, the peepers, and the poseurs in their place.

  “What’s happening?” I ask Lord Aaron quietly when Saber and I join him. I stride along between them, a hand on each arm. I’ve been taking advantage of the King’s absence to keep Saber at my side instead of behind me. Not flaunting, precisely—merely keeping him more equal. He’ll never be even a servant in my eyes, much less a slave.

  “Does it matter?” my melancholy friend asks, lifting his eyebrows and his glass.

  “The tension in here is palpable. Yes, that matters to me.”

  “I can’t bear a scene tonight,” Lord Aaron says, letting the barest edge of his weariness show in the form of a slight slur. “Promise me you won’t do anything.”

  “That sounds like a dangerous promise,” I say, catching a flute of champagne from a passing servant.

  “Please? For Spencer’s sake?”

  “I promise—as long as you’ll tell me.” I give him a tight smile. “To be quite honest, I’d rather be angry than sad.”

  “Then this is your lucky day,” he says dryly, more into his tumbler than to me. “Lady Cyn is down at the other end of the hall sharing the love emails your husband has been sending her while he’s away.”

  I snort and cough on my champagne. “Well, those are fake.”

  “I have no doubt,” he says. “But she’s getting quite a lot of mileage out of them.”

  “A twenty-three-year-old woman—a girl, practically, for all the years she had on me—is dead. Violently and by her own hand. And Lady Cyn cannot muster the respect to give up her juvenile campaign against me for one evening?”

  “She’s always been a cold fish who cares for little beyond herself,” Lord Aaron says, then leans so close to my ear that his lips touch my skin. “The emails can fairly easily be proved to be false. Especially once the King gets home. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.”

  I steal a glance at the other end of the hall, where Lady Cyn is sitting on a chair with her long taffeta skirts spread about her in a graceful semicircle, her tablet in her hands—jacketed like a hand-stitched book, but still a fairly brazen flouting of Wednesday protocol—reading aloud to a crowd of courtiers, mostly young ladies, who appear to be eating up every word. “For all her faults, she knows the King. He has no interest in court gossip unless it impacts his business plans. He’ll never follow up on this, much less take the time to publicly deny it. He simply won’t care.”

  “She’s so petty,” Lord Aaron says, tipping back the rest of his drink. “The only thing worse than a bad loser is a bad winner.”

  “She hasn’t won,” I mutter, finishing my champagne and reaching for another glass despite Saber’s sending me a raised eyebrow just before turning to address a young courtier. Julianna’s death has left me in a gray mood. I suspect it’ll be a big champagne night for me. “I’m going to grind her into the pavement. But not tonight. I will keep my word, not to mention behave as a decent human being. How is Duke Spencer? Feeling any better?”

  “Truthfully? No. He blames himself because he has that sort of heart. But he’s over the shock and more in control, and that’s almost the same thing, isn’t it?”

  “Some days,” I say ruefully. “He’s not coming tonight, is he? I was surprised to see you here.”

  “We decided it was more respectful if we didn’t arrive together.”

  “Decent of you,” I drawl, but a flurry of movement catches my eye. “Oh dear, I’d better go rescue Saber.” He’s been waylaid by three young courtiers who all seem certain that laying hands on his person will somehow get them what they want.

  “Darling,” Lord Aaron says, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder as I start to walk away. “Once Spence arrives, he and I have something to tell you.”

  He doesn’t meet my eyes, and a flutter of fear makes my heart race. “Should we…meet in your office?” I ask. “Perhaps at midnight?”

  “I thought the middle of the Salon d’Apollon. Midnight is fine.”

  “The Salon d’Apollon?” I echo. “It’ll be full of people.”

  The smile he flashes is grim. “What better place to share a secret than the middle of a crowded room?” He tips the rest of his drink into his mouth, and I return to rescuing Saber.

  I position myself directly behind the two ladies and one gentleman harassing my green-eyed paramour and clear my throat loudly. As they turn, one of them removes her hand from inside Saber’s breast pocket, and I barely control my temper as I glare at her. She raises her chin for a few seconds before realizing there’s no hiding the bright red flush across her cheeks, then looks over my shoulder and mutters an apology. To me, not to Saber. I’d like to make a bigger deal of it, but what I’d like more is to simply get them out of here.

  “Saber, have you completed your business with these people?” I ask sharply, still staring at the red-faced girl with the wandering hands.

  “Indeed,” Saber says stiffly.

  “Then they’d better be off,” I say, my eyes taking in each of them in turn.

  They drop into bows with matching murmurs of “Yes, Your Highness,” before scurrying off like rodents.

  “You’re going to have to raise the price again,” Saber says when I take his proffered arm and begin promenading down the line of salons.

  I nod. It feels a touch disrespectful to discuss my illegal business in the wake of a violent death. Still, I can’t help but be grateful that at least this death had nothing to do with Glitter. It had everything to do with me, but the voice that insists on reminding me will soon be drowned in champagne.

  “My list is completely full and I’m still dealing with people pushing money at me,” Saber says. “Obviously.”

  “Already? But we just got a fresh batch.”

  Saber nods. “They’re trying to claim their canister as far ahead as they can.”

  “No double orders?”

  “I’ve checked it twice.”

  I take a shuddering breath. “Okay. Double the price one more time, but that’s as far as I’m going to take it. From here on out, it’s first come, first served.”

  “Things are going to get ugly,” Saber warns.

  “Do you think I’m wrong?”

  “You know my feelings.”

  “I meant about continuing to limit the quantities.”

  “No!” he says quickly. “At least it’s something. Don’t go back on that. I’m just not sure how much longer it’ll be possible. You made a million and a half since last week.”

  “After paying Reginald?” I ask. Saber just nods silently. I suppose I could have done the math earlier and predicted it, but I’ve been so busy I just haven’t bothered.

  Haven’t bothered to count a million and a half euros. This is my life now.

  “Could you find Lady Mei for me, Saber?” I ask, consulting my Lens. “She’s somewhere in the Hercules Drawing Room at the moment, but on the go.” I grasp his arm and lean my head close to his ear. “I need a report. Tell her to circulate a bit, find out what people think of Lady Cyn’s newest stunt—if they’re buying it—and to come find me later. And don’t tell Lord Aaron. Or Duke Spencer.”

  Saber pulls back and looks down at me, with a wrinkle between his brow and wearing an expression I can’t quite read.

  “I know,” I say. “It’s ridiculous to be dealing with this right now, and I feel awful. But I can’t allow Lady Cyn’s petty grudge to interfere with more important things, and I promised Lord Aaron I wouldn’t make a scene.” I look down at my shoes. “Help me keep that promise?”

  A labored sigh is my only answer.

  “Tell Lady Mei I’ll be in the Salon d’Apollon.”

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want,” he says, waiting a mom
ent for me to—what? Take it back?

  “I know you don’t like the games people play here,” I whisper, “but so long as I am here, I need to know these things.”

  He nods curtly, then drops a low bow and turns to work his way through the dense crowd.

  I kill time for half an hour—drinking too much champagne and not eating enough food to soak it up—but when at last midnight approaches, I make my way to the center of the Salon d’Apollon, feeling queasy. Unlike in the days before my marriage to the King, people make way for me, and I reach my desired destination easily. Lord Aaron and Duke Spencer are waiting there, but neither is looking at me. They’re having one of those silent conversations that only take place between true intimates.

  Before I can let out a sigh of exasperation and ask them to please speak their thoughts aloud, Duke Spencer says, “Tell her. She deserves to know.”

  We’re gathered into a close cluster, but though the courtiers around us crane their necks to spy, no one dares actually intrude on this tête-à-tête. Meeting here was a good idea—the din in the salon makes it surprisingly private, provided one keeps a fan to one’s lips, and we truly have been spending too much time shut away in the privacy of Lord Aaron’s office. Who knows what kind of spy network the King left in place in his absence? And in the wake of Julianna’s death, perhaps even the illusion of secrecy should be avoided for a few days.

  Lord Aaron takes a deep breath before speaking. “We can’t stay. And it’s not just Julianna’s death, although…”

  “That made the decision easier,” Duke Spencer finishes, then shudders. “I can’t sleep in that house again. Not ever.”

  “But even before that, I was halfway to this decision,” Lord Aaron says. “Once we found those contracts, it was…I think even you knew it was inevitable.”

  I swallow hard and nod.